Endless Waltz
by Anti-clockwork
Summary: A rewrite of the Twelve Dancing Princesses from the youngest daughter's point of view. Make of it what you will.


_The Twelve Dancing Princesses. You guys know the story, so here's my strange little rewrite. Enjoy :)_

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**Endless Waltz**

_One, two, three, four._

The music starts, and so does the dance. Whirling, twirling, flying across the floor, feet barely touching the ground, skirts fluttering with movement. Shoes tapping, laughter ringing; the air is light, the night is young, and the dancers are breathtaking.

There are twelve couples. Daughters of a single king, each more beautiful than the last, each wearing a different colour, with hair that ranges from platinum blonde, to raven black. Each dances with a partner, an opposite, an unlucky suitor; princes, soldiers, men of high rank. Men who tried, and failed, to break the spell, and thus were brought under it as well.

The ballroom is candlelit, with a brilliant glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the centre of the room, sending shards of fragmented light everywhere. Seated on a velvet throne to one side is the hostess of the nightly ball; a tall, dark-haired woman with eyes a strange violet colour. They scan the ballroom for a few minutes before she smiles and drinks her wine, satisfied.

Tonight the last has finally joined them, and so, completed the set. A gardener's boy disguised as a prince, and currently dancing with the youngest, fully aware of her eyes on him, accusing; she recognises him well. After all, he greets her every afternoon, after the princesses have finally awoken from their slumber.

He asks her a question, which she doesn't quite hear, lost in her own thoughts.

"Princess?" Meek, timid, quiet. That's how he seems.

"Oh... Yes?"

Silence. Then, "Nothing." He looks away and she watches his face, curiously.

They switch partners and her eyes follow him as he leaves. She finds herself in the arms of another who smiles in greeting, although she fails to notice this, distracted as she is, and the dancing continues.

She has never questioned why she dances every night. Why, as each suitor slowly appeared, they seemed to dance later and later until they would leave in the early hours of the morning, when the sun had almost risen. She loves the dance, and loses herself in it, her emerald skirts flying with movement. Round and round. Over and over.

_One..._

There are shoes and dresses and jewellery. There is interest, entertainment, enjoyment. She feels like a doll, but can't decide whether or not this is good or bad. She watches in a mild daze, still groggy from sleep, as her sisters bustle about, readying themselves for the midnight ball.

She is only five when they first traverse the route to the castle.

They enter a trapdoor in the corner of their room and navigate their way through the darkness of the passageway via the light of a single lantern, until they reach the forests. The trees are beautiful, magical, picturesque, with leaves of bronze, gold and diamond. Light is thrown everywhere, reflecting off the precious foliage, glittering on the lake before the castle.

They take six boats; two princesses to each, and make their way across the water, floating like lily pads cut loose. When they reach the castle they are greeted by _her_. Standing tall in a slim purple dress lined with gold, she nods her head and smiles serenely, amber teardrop earrings jangling.

She calls herself Esmeralda.

The youngest feels uncomfortable in the presence of this woman, but after a few nights it seems almost normal. She enjoys the food, and loves the dance. There's something she finds thrilling in the knowledge that what she and her sisters get up to at night is a big secret that no one can ever find out. Somewhere in the back of her mind she feels that something isn't right, but she ignores it.

Three years later, her father outlaws dancing.

Two years after that and he announces that anyone who can break the spell _(young, old, rich, poor)_ will be given the hand of whichever princess he wishes.

When the youngest princess turns twelve, her eldest sister is twenty-four and should have been married long ago. The king eats his breakfast alone everyday with no one but the servants for company since his daughters are so exhausted by the ball they are compelled to attend every night, that they barely awaken in time for lunch. Occasionally a suitor appears hoping to win himself a beautiful princess' hand in marriage. He joins them for dinner, spends the night, and disappears the next morning.

She deems this: immaterial.

_Two..._

The new gardener's boy arranges the bouquets set out for the princesses every morning. He chooses each set with as much care as possible and the first time she sees him she can't help but smile at how he seems frozen in embarrassment the moment she appears.

_(Each princess seemed more beautiful than the last, no matter what order they appeared in)_

As they're leaving the castle, after a particularly exhausting night, she hears a sharp crack whilst they're walking through the woods and turns to see no one. Her sisters assure her that it is merely the beating of the drums at the castle and she dismisses a foreboding thought.

The next day she sees a bronze sprig tucked away in the centre of her bouquet and immediately suspects the worst. Her mind runs over the possibilities and as the days past without event, she has to reach under her pillow and grasp the branch to assure herself that she isn't imagining things. The gardener's boy acts as though nothing had happened and the youngest princess can't help but feel confused.

Weeks later she sees gold hidden in the centre of a circle of lilies. At this point she realises the cause of the crack the other night, and the appearance of the gold branch in her bouquet rekindles her suspicions about the gardener's boy. Her elder sisters think she is infatuated, as her eyes often follow him whenever they are out in the gardens. She denies this flatly, unamused by their teasing, and continues to keep a wary eye on him.

The snap of wood a few nights later is loud enough for her eldest sister to hear at the front of the line. She doesn't know why, but when they ask what the sound was, she tells them it is merely the beating of the drums, and they move on.

The next day she trails behind her sisters, so that by the time she reaches the gardener's boy they are already out of sight.

She sees no surprise hidden in those soft blue eyes. The look he gives her is one she can't seem to decipher and when she doesn't say anything he simply smiles - something that frustrates her to no end. She finds herself throwing accusations, making assumptions and finally, watching him walk away stiffly from her outstretched hand and the heavy purse sitting in it. She clutches her bouquet close to her chest and looks down.

Pain is the colour of shattered diamonds.

_Three..._

There is only one more empty place at the midnight ball and the dances have to be changed in order to fit with the number of dancers. Nothing special.

It is almost sunrise when the dancing stops and they sit down to begin the usual feast. The dishes are delectable, served on sterling silver plates. Empty goblets stand before each guest, which the servants rush to fill with wine. And, as she does every night, Esmeralda steps up and raises her goblet in toast, adding, "to the new arrival," and nodding in his direction.

The youngest princess turns her eyes to him, observing his actions. He looks overwhelmed, confused, and reminds her much of a lost child. Hesitantly, he reaches out for the goblet and, after looking towards the hostess and seeing her nod in approval, he lifts it to his lips.

_(Don't drink!)_

She blinks and watches as his eyes glaze over before he raises his own glass high, declaring, in a clear, strong voice,

"A toast to our beautiful host!"

And then the feast begins.

When it ends, they make their way back to their castle. Across the lake, through the forests of diamond, gold and bronze, back up the hard stone steps and through the trapdoor to their room.

He doesn't go with them.

_Four_...

A waltz with changing couples. Step and spin. Step and spin. Once more, then switch partners. It's fast paced and feels as though it could go on forever. A strange way to waltz, but it doesn't matter.

Another switch and she finds herself back in his arms; somehow a sweet and comforting thought. He smiles, a little sheepishly, and she finds herself smiling back. As the music slowly comes to a halt, so do they, spinning elegantly like lilies floating down a stream.

The pause before the next dance is enough for one of her sisters to walk past and mutter an embarrassing approval in her ear, making her look away feeling awkward. She hears his voice, faint, quiet; asking her if anything was wrong and she glances up, only to be caught by his curious gaze.

Her response is cut off by the musicians as they begin to play again, leading the couples into the next dance. As they begin, her spirits lift and she floats across the floor, graceful as a doe in the woods. She flashes her partner a bright, joyful smile, noting the surprise on his face, and not altogether disliking it.

She is in her place. Her world. A world of elegant ballrooms, of music and dancing. Of romantic candles and beautiful dresses. But nothing could ever bring her as much joy as the dance.

Yes, there is nothing. Nothing but the dance.

Over and over again. Round and round. Twirling, whirling, waltzing.

Endlessly.

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**A/N: **So... Review! Review! Review! Yeah. I'm going to do this everytime I post a fic on this site. I'd like some constructive criticism please. And someone kill the person that made the exams I've been studying for. My braincells die everytime I look at a textbook. Argh! None of it's actually sinking in! I'm gonna FAIILLLL! God, no! T.T

Okay, I'm done. :)


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